Will's Story
by Pen Is Ink
Summary: Will's life story and his feelings on Elizabeth... Begins as a childhood romance, and then slowly develops. Romance begins at Chapter three. COMPLETE
1. Mother

Here's a lovely little fic that told from Will's point of view: basically his life and feelings on Elizabeth, mostly. Please enjoy, and please review!  
  
Disclaimer: You know what? I own all of PoTC and Disney, and heck, I own the world! And if you did not believe that I was being sarcastic right there, I should think I own YOU.  
  
I was born the twenty third of July, 1701, as William Jonathan Turner.  
  
My mother, up until the day she died, always told me the story of my birth. She was about to lie with a man, completely unaware of the fact that she was pregnant. In fact, she only thought she was growing rather round for some odd reason or the other, and had continual stomach sickness due to her two months spent on a ship. As she was just getting into the man's bed, her water broke, and she started screaming for the Lord to save her and spare her sinned soul. The man she was with had to tell her that she was having a baby, and was forced to help her deliver it.  
  
My mother knew not who the father was until she looked directly at my face and saw my nose. The nose reminded her of a man she'd met on the ship she'd sailed on, and right then she knew my father was William Turner. Hence, I was named after my father.  
  
She was a quirky woman of sorts, my mother, and tried to raise me in the slums of England. I went to school until I was five or so, when I just stopped learning anything at all. I could read and write, as my mother had taught me, and I found no real reason to continue with my schooling. All the true education in the world came from my mother and her stories. She used to tell me about her adventures in a place called the Caribbean, a magical set of islands that were so far from my home in rainy England that the tales of their magical shores and pirates seemed like a fantasy world away. She told me those stories whenever she had a minute; stories about how she had seen a hanging there, stories of how the governer's balls would last until the sun began to peak over the sky, and stories of how she had met my father there.  
  
My father, she told me, was a sailor she had met on the beach when she was still in the town of Tortuga in the Caribbean. She was actually looking to get to England, and managed to barter passage aboard his ship for a... price, she said, then laughed. She spent two months on that ship rather by accident, as they had to re-route or something to that effect, and was eventually forced to say goodbye to my father upon their landing in England. He had been a merchant sailor who could never stay more than five days in one place, she had told me, and did not choose to marry him for that reason and many others.  
  
"I will spare your ears the complications," she'd say.  
  
The people around town knew my mother fairly well, especially the men. Remember, we lived in the slums, where men slept in dung heaps and children played with pigs. Every few nights or so, she'd bring a man home, then the next day she'd give me a large sum of money to go buy the biggest loaf of bread I could find. Over the bread, she'd tell me that if I ever wanted to find my father, I should just go the Caribbean and he'd be there, on the isle of Tortuga.  
  
Why didn't we go together and look for him, I asked her.  
  
"I have no reason to find your father, Will," she said. "But if you're ever in a spot, I'm sure he'll be glad to help out his own son."  
  
It was on my seventh birthday that I received two gifts, both that would change my life forever.  
  
In the morning, my mother cooked meat (a rarity around the poorhouse in which we lived), and told me that for the first time, she had a very wonderful birthday present for me. She had put it in a box and everything, and used string as a makeshift ribbon. I opened it, expecting to find something like that of which the rich boys had like a pocketknife. Instead I found a large circular gold pendant that had a skull in the middle, with a chain attached. It was a necklace.  
  
I remember quite clearly scowling at my mother and saying, "Mum, I'm not a girl. I don't wear necklaces."  
  
"Shush, you stupid boy!" she said. "Do you know what this is?"  
  
"It's a necklace."  
  
"No, it's not," she said. "It's a very rare pendant, and your father gave it to me before he left England. He told me that whenever I wore it, I was to think of him. Real sensitive bloke, your father."  
  
I looked at the alleged necklace with a new reverance. "It was my father's?"  
  
"Yes," my mother replied, nodding. "I would have kept it for myself, but, well... Will, to put it quite simply, it causes me a lot of pain to remember your father by wearing that so much. I want you to have it. It was very precious to him, you know, he told me it was his most prized."  
  
I held the pendant firmly in my hand. "Why don't you want to remember him?"  
  
"That's a lot of tosh and nonsense for such a young boy," she said. "You're his spitting image, you know, look just like him. Every day I see you I see him."  
  
"That doesn't tell me why you don't want to remember him."  
  
"Quiet, Will, and another word on the matter will get you no supper. Now, off with you! I've got work to do, go find some boys and play with the pigs."  
  
That was the last time I saw my mother alive. I remember that I came home that night, covered in mud, head to toe, and rather hungry. The pendant was placed firmly on my neck, underneath my shirt, and I returned to our building, greeting the usual mass of women (our neighbors) in revealing clothes. When I walked into the front room of the apartment (there were only two rooms, a bedroom and a front room), I could hear no noise or see any supper, so I called to my mother. She did not answer me. I called out the window, and checked in cupboards, under the rugs, anywhere (forgive me, I was only seven years of age). I finally walked into the bedroom where I could make out my mother's figure lying on the bed. Her candles were unlit, so I took one from the front room and brought it in with me to light the room and wake her. I was terribly hungry, I thought, as I walked in.  
  
That's when I noticed the blood. Underneath my feet, blood was pooling together, all of it coming from the same spot. I gasped, looking all around me to see if there was a dead cat lying about. I pulled at my mother's dress, still not looking at her.  
  
"Mum! Mum, I think there's a dead cat somewhere. There's blood all over the floor."  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
"Mum! Mum, are you awake? Wake up, Mum! Mum!"  
  
I turned around to face her to see her body, bleeding and grotesquely mangled, her face strangely peaceful. I screamed, dropping the candlestick to the floor and letting it burn the wooden ground, running out of the flat, running anywhere, anywhere at all. I fled into the dung heap nearby, watching as crazed men and half dressed women went screaming out of the building, as the fire burned my mother's body. I sat in the dung heap, watching as the firemen came to put out the fire, and all that was left of my former apartment building was a pile of ashes and the sign that led to it, a sign that had a picture of a woman leaning over.  
  
I spent days sitting in that dung heap, unable to come out. Where could I go? I daren't leave the slums, and no family around the area was willing enough to take in yet another mouth to feed. All I wanted right then was some food, perhaps a bath. But mainly food. I remembered that once there was a boy who I used to see on the street often, Reginald, whose mother told him to beg for food. Begging, I thought. It was such a nasty word that I preferred to consider it stingy giving upon overly curteous requests.  
  
I did that for about a few weeks or so, and it got me something. There were days when there was no food at all, but ever few days or so some kind soul would relent to a seven year old orphan begging for a bite, and lend me a mouthful of bread or something. The trick, I taught myself, was to make them feel bad. Then they were certain to give a little bit.  
  
I actually became quite the street rat during the first few months after my mother's death. I learned tricks to begging, never took a bath (my last bath had been on the morning of my seventh birthday), and often stole food from strangers. One day, I found a rather large cheese loaf in the basket of a man passing by, and I reached out behind him to take it when he slapped my hand from behind, grabbed me, and pulled me around to face him. He was very tall and thin, had very long white hair, and looked uncommonly young. He lifted me up to his height by my collar.  
  
"Who are you, boy?" he asked me.  
  
"William Turner," I replied, squinting, waiting for him to smack me.  
  
"What makes you think you can steal my cheese?"  
  
"I-I'm hungry, sir," I said, trying to make him feel guilty.  
  
"Don't try to make me feel guilty, William," he said, surprising me by using my name.  
  
My eyes widened. "Yes, sir."  
  
"William, how long is it since you've had your last meal?"  
  
"Two days, sir."  
  
"Would you like my cheese, William?"  
  
"Yes, sir, very much, but I wouldn't take it from you."  
  
He stared at me long and hard for a few minutes before saying, "Good answer. Have it." He handed me the cheese, which I devoured hungrily. "Where are your parents?"  
  
"Well," I said, through mouthfuls of my God-sent food, "my mum died when our house burned down, and I've never known my father."  
  
"I see..." he mused. "So you're an orphan?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And you live upon the streets, begging and stealing?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"So you have no place in the world that you need to be going?"  
  
A thought struck me, recalling some of my mother's last words to me: the Caribbean. "No, sir."  
  
"Well, how about this, young William. You can come with me on my ship, join my crew as a deck scrubber, and you'll get your meals three times a day and clean water to bathe in. We're looking for someone young, anyhow."  
  
"You mean leave England, sir?"  
  
"Yes, William, that is precisely what I mean."  
  
I thought on this for a few seconds, remembering that my mother's remains lay here. But the promise of food and shelter was far too enticing. "I'll come."  
  
"There are a few conditions," he said. "No more stealing or begging, and you are to work hard and do exactly as we say. Understood?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Then come with me. I'll introduce you to the crew. We leave in the morning."  
  
As we walked along towards the harbor, I said to him, "Please, sir. Call me Will."  
  
He looked at me strangely. "All right, Will."  
  
"What should I call you, sir?"  
  
"Sir is just fine."  
  
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Hope you liked it. Please review. I have some romance coming up by Chapter three, so please continue reading. 


	2. Captain Sir

I am very sorry that the chapters are so short... Originally they were all intended to be horribly long things. But I'll try.  
  
Disclaimer: Do you see the title of this sentence? DISclaimer. As in, I am DISclaiming everything. NONE OF IT IS MINE!!!  
  
Captain Sir told me that there was a lot to learn about sailing in the seas, and that it would involve plenty of hard work. I would do anything for a bit of food and some clean water at that point. So I went on with the crew, sailing around the world, practically. I found out that Captain Sir was a goods merchant with a wife and a boy named Alex. I automatically assumed Alex and I could find some grounds of friendship, but unlike his father, whenever Alex was aboard the ship he was rather snobbish, and I could never truly tolerate that. Alex did, however give me the first taste of being put down consistently, as though I was a servant. It helped me learn to "keep my place", as he quoted it.  
  
Captain Sir, however, was quite different to me. I imagined that he treated me as a surrogate son, someone whom he taught everything about everything to. He showed me how to steer a ship, how to wrap a wound, and gave me some very basic good morals that I still value very much today. He taught me the meaning of hard work, and the understanding of fidelity to one's wife. He told me, "Will, if I were to bed with every woman that came my way, I don't imagine that I would be a very good husband, would I?"  
  
I spent two years on his ship, the Fair Lady, before the worst came upon what I thought was my cure to a ruined childhood.  
  
I was sitting on deck, waiting for Captain Sir to come out. It was early morning, early enough for the stars to be out. It was rather cold out, and I began to sing a song I had heard one of the crewmen muttering:  
  
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me...  
  
It was the only line I knew of the song, and I began to play with my father's pendant, singing it to myself over and over. It was just then that I saw sails along the horizon. Perhaps it was another ship, I thought. Maybe my father's ship. I had doubtless remembered my mother's words about the Caribbean and had always wondered if the Fair Lady was to ever stop there. If they had, I would most likely ask Captain Sir permission to meet with my father, and often fantasized about what he was like.  
  
The ship in front appeared to be coming towards us fast and strong. I wondered if my father ever knew he had a child, if the child was named after him, if he knew my mother was now dead. I glanced at the sails on the ship, which did not resemble the British flag. I stood up, squinting through the fog. The main flag was a dark color, something I'd never seen on a flag... Perhaps it represented a different country? The close the ship got, I could recognize the color of the flag: black with a strange symbol on the front. It drew closer, and I saw a skull, backed by two bones, placed upon a black flag.  
  
"PIRATES!" I yelled. "PIRATES! PIRATES! COME QUICK! CAPTAIN SIR, PIRATES!"  
  
Captain Sir was out of his bedchamber immediately, robed in a nightcap and gown. "Where is it, Will? Where are the pirates?"  
  
I pointed at the ship that was headed to park right next to ours. "It's got a black flag! With the skull!"  
  
Captain Sir glanced at the ship. "Good Lord," he muttered. "Listen, Will. I want you to go down to the chambers and alert the crew. Let everyone know there are pirates. When they're all out on deck, you are to go down to the brig and remain there, you hear? Stay in the brig, no matter what happens! Is that understood?"  
  
I gulped, nodding quickly. "Yes, sir. Yes sir, I will. I won't leave the brig."  
  
"Good," he said. "Go now!"  
  
I remember that I ran down the steps, screaming, "PIRATES! PIRATES! THEY'RE GOING FOR AN ATTACK! CAPTAIN SIR WANTS EVERYBODY ON DECK! PIRATES!"  
  
The crew was up and putting their trousers on when the first cannon was fired. It went straight through a wall, causing water to begin to flood the room.  
  
"EVERYBODY GO!" I yelled, trying to make them follow Captain Sir's orders. The ship was sinking, and I was quite scared that this incident would put my days on the Fair Lady to an end.  
  
One of the crew members, Mr. Cooper, looked at me and asked, "Where are you going, Will? Certainly Captain doesn't want you on deck for all this."  
  
"No," I gasped, the ankles of my trousers getting soaked, "he wants me to go down to the brig."  
  
"The brig?" Mr. Cooper asked skeptically. "But that's all the way at the bottom of the ship! If they hit us hard enough, ye'll be the first to drown!"  
  
I glanced around nervously. "I have to. It's what Captain Sir thinks is best."  
  
Mr. Cooper gave me one last finalizing glance before taking off towards the deck, and I climbed downward towards the brig. It was frigid down there, and I remember that I sat down in one of the cells, ducking my head under as cannons blasted through it and water began to flood in, sinking the Fair Lady. It was only a matter of minutes before I began wading in the deepening water, and soon, trying to stay afloat. Just as I was thinking of ways to perhaps stay in the brig and still see what Captain Sir was doing, the answer to my latter question came to me. Captain Sir's body came afloat in the water just a few minutes later.  
  
I saw his long white hair floating about, his eyes peaceful. He looked as though he hadn't been harmed at all. But I began to cry while still trying to swim. Captain Sir... dead? No, impossible.  
  
"CAPTAIN SIR!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Captain Sir, try to stay afloat! Wake up, Captain!" I reached a hand out, pulling up his cold, weighted body, trying to shake him. "Captain, if you kick your legs like this... See, you can do it! You can stay afloat! SEE, YOU CAN MAKE IT, CAPTAIN SIR!"  
  
I let go on my already weak hold of him and he just began to sink to the bottom once more. Why was he doing this? Why was he playing such a terrible game? Was this another one of his tests?  
  
"Captain Sir, stop napping! Wake up!" It was the only logical conclusion. "Captain Sir! Captain Sir! Do you hear me? I don't like this test, sir, please stop! Captain Sir! Wake up! It's not funny! Kick your legs! Please sir... Please..." My voice faded hoarsely as I came to a deafening conclusion.  
  
He was dead. Dead, dead, dead. The word resounded in my head, over and over, like a vat of rum that would never end. He was gone? How could he be gone? Captain Sir, without life? No, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be. He was perhaps not the youngest man alive, but he was vibrant, teaching me everything I ever knew about this world. And now he was dead. Dead, drifting towards the end. His wife and children would never see him again. His crew would never see him again.  
  
I would never see him again.  
  
And then an overwhelming rush of emotions passed over me, beyond any sort of comprehension. He was just leaving me? Simply like this? Without any goodbye, or nothing? Just a message to stay in the brig? I had a desire to tell him all of this, to let him know before he was lost forever.  
  
"This is it?" I yelled at his body, though there was only a few inches of space between the ceiling of the brig and the water now. The ship was coming down fast, I could feel it, but I had to say my last words to Captain Sir. I had to tell him that he shouldn't have left. "Where am I supposed to go now? That's always the case, I've never got anyplace to go, it's just Will wandering around, no one who bloody cares for him!" I used the word bloody just because Captain Sir had always told me not to. The ship was coming down fast, I could feel it, soon it was going to collapse to the ocean. I had to get out of there soon, I knew, but I grabbed a large plank of wood from the brig and held on. "See this?" I yelled, showing him the wood. "You wanted me to stay in the brig, I'll stay in the brig!"  
  
And then, just as my sobs released with such a force I knew not, the swift current of the ocean and the collapsing of the ship left me being pulled away, clinging to the wooden plank of the brig for support, screaming, "Captain Sir!"  
  
And then I saw a metal pole come down toward my head, and everything went black.  
  
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I seriously hoped that was what I meant it to be... I wanted Will to have some deep hidden thing about pirates, and this would possibly be what did it... Well, review if you are a nice person. 


	3. The Angel

And here the romance begins. Thank you for putting up with me during a time of angst and turmoil, but those parts were vital in order for me to project Will as the character he became at the age of twenty.  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like a thief to you?  
  
When I awoke to the feel of soft touch, I recall that I was in an unfamiliar place, but the first thing I saw was an angel. She was young, so very young, and she asked me who I was.  
  
"Will Turner," I said.  
  
"I'm Elizabeth Swann. I'm going to take care of you, Will."  
  
And once more, I fell into the blackness, hating Captain Sir, wondering where my father was.  
  
I arose again some three days later, and the angel who called herself Elizabeth told me she feared I was dead.  
  
At least someone fears for my death, I thought rather bitterly, and most unlike myself.  
  
My first instinct upon waking was to do what I always did: take the pendant out and think. But when I reached for it around my neck, it was gone. For the first time, the pendant had left its safe hiding place underneath my shirt.  
  
Great. It was really terrible, I had lost the only memory left of my mother and my father. It was lost to Davy Jones Locker forever, just gone. Before I even had time to ponder the loss, however, Elizabeth Swann walked into the room.  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, knocking on the door of the tiny room. "Mr. Turner?"  
  
"Um, come in," I said.  
  
"I have food for you," she said, gesturing to a tray with bread and fruit on it. "I was afraid that you were dead." She smiled.  
  
I looked at her, not expecting her to say that. Instead, I asked rather rudely, "Who are you?"  
  
She smiled again, sitting down next to me on my cot. "I'm Elizabeth Swann. My father is Governor Swann. It's nice to meet you."  
  
I was in no mood to greet her in a way that would make Captain Sir proud, so instead I asked, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Well," she said, sighing, "it really depends. We need to know what happened to you, Mr. Turner."  
  
Will had been told by Captain Sir that people of a high authority always greeted each other by last name. "I'm sorry," he said stubbornly. "I don't think I can tell you that, Ms. Swann."  
  
"Why not?" she asked.  
  
"There's nothing to tell," I insisted, not really wanting to talk about it, especially not with a complete stranger. "Just leave me out on the beach somewhere, I can find a place to go."  
  
"But haven't you got any parents to go home to?" She appeared concerned.  
  
"No," he said. "I don't. I can find my way around, I'll be all right."  
  
"Listen, Mr. Turner," she said. "I'm not about to let my father leave you abandoned somewhere without knowing you'll be safe. You're coming back with us."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"You mean where are we going," she corrected. "We're going back home to Port Royal."  
  
I recognized the name vaguely, from a place far away in the distance. "Where is Port Royal?"  
  
"It's on a Caribbean island," she said.  
  
My eyes widened. If we were going back to the Caribbean, I might be able to find my father! "Is Port Royal near a place called Tortuga?"  
  
"Yes," Ms. Swann said uncomfortably. "But I wouldn't go there if I were you. It's rather a... strange place, if you ask me. And Father most probably won't let you."  
  
Wouldn't let him? How can he do that? "But I'm not under your father's care..."  
  
"No, but seeing as you're an orphan he's going to need to find you a suitable home."  
  
I was sincerely too tired to fight what she was telling me. I just flopped back down on the cot.  
  
"What happened?" she asked softly.  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked, rather cynically as a matter of fact.  
  
"I saw the ship," she said. "I saw it. It was a pirate ship, wasn't it? They sank your boat, didn't they?"  
  
I didn't want to answer.  
  
She sighed. "All right. Father tells me that you're to get plenty of rest, but if you ever need any company, I am right here."  
  
And with that, she left.  
  
That was somewhat the stages of our early acquaintance; she would tell me things about herself in an attempt to be cordial, and I would always evasively change the subject every time she asked me about anything. At first it had been the mere fact that all my wounds were still fresh: loss of my mother and Captain Sir, falling of the only two homes I ever had. But eventually it developed into something more; she was like a living angel, something I had undoubtedly christened her upon our first meeting for a reason, fragile and perfect, and I would not want to tell her the stories of my slums and horrors. It was far too embarrassing for me, and would be sure to put a grotesque scar on her mind.  
  
I learned much about her, however. She claimed that the maids in her household would never let her alone for even a moment, that she could ride a horse and was learning how to sing, that she lost her mother the day she was born.  
  
I came quite close to telling her the truth when she told me that, as her story was very nearly as terrible as mine, but I bit my lip. After all, I hardly knew her.  
  
We landed in the Port Royal harbor about one week after Governer Swann's crew removed me from the water. I tried not to show my excitement; my father would probably be somewhere close by. Then he would recognize me and come take me away from whatever terrible orphanage the Governor would place me in.  
  
It was just my luck, however, that the Governor did not place me in a terrible orphanage my father could rescue me from. In fact, as soon as we landed in the harbor, the Governor led me to an old woman standing, waiting for our ship to dock, apparently.  
  
"Will," Governor Swann said to me, "I have arranged a caretaker for you. Meet Ms. Smith. She will be your new surrogate mother."  
  
The elderly woman took my hand and said, "What's your name?"  
  
"William Turner," I replied. "William Jonathan Turner."  
  
"He likes to be called Will," Elizabeth said from behind me.  
  
The Governor gave her a silencing look. "There, there, Elizabeth. I'm quite sure the boy can tell Ms. Smith exactly what he likes to be called."  
  
Elizabeth said, "Yes, Father," but I caught her giving him an almighty scowl once his face had turned.  
  
"Best of luck to you, Will," the Governor said. "I will check on you every so often to see how you are doing. Goodbye." He turned and walked away, leaving me with Ms. Smith.  
  
Elizabeth had lagged behind. She made sure her father wasn't looking before blushing furiously and saying, "Bye," and kissing me on the cheek. She ran off to catch up.  
  
I held my cheek all through the walk to Ms. Smith's home.  
  
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So, finally the thing I've been promising you people. Review if you liked it, review if you didn't. My aim here was to be very in character: I wanted to start with a raw nothing of Will and mold it into the character Orlando Bloom had a very rare opportunity to show. He was absolutely fantabulous, by the way. More coming next chapter, and we have a bit of a... swing, if you will. 


	4. Governor Swann

Well, we finally get to hear about Will's feelings more on this one (as if we haven't been hearing about them already!), but now there is a bit of a plot thrown in... I think this may resemble a plot from Great Expectations, but it was completely unintentional and I am making this a sort of disclaimer in case anyone comes to sue me (although I doubt they will.)  
  
Disclaimer: I like to play pretend, but I don't pretend with ownership.  
  
Ms. Smith was actually a very caring old woman, who took great care of me almost the way my own mother might have. She was a widow; her husband had died ten years into the marriage, and she never got the chance to have children. She called me Will and taught me all about being a proper young gentleman in society, something I had never gotten the opportunity to learn before. Ms. Smith also enrolled me in the local public school in Port Royal, in addition to getting me an apprenticeship at the blacksmith's shop.  
  
You must remember, that when I was nine years old the blacksmith, Mr. Gruber, was not drunk nor lazy, and he had no apprentice. If the opposite had applied to any of the former, I am quite certain Ms. Smith would never have let me set foot into his shop. No, Mr. Gruber was a good teacher for the first five years, teaching me the basics of sword making, letting me set my own guidelines and do the rest. It became a true love for me very quickly, and I spent much of my time after school in the blacksmith shop or at the back of Ms. Smith's home, practicing arm movements to strengthen my muscles.  
  
Meanwhile, I continually mourned the loss of Captain Sir. Ms. Smith was good to me, however, she was a widowed woman, and there was no longer a man around. I was lucky; Captain Sir had explained all things about manhood rather well to me, perhaps in his eagerness for a son, but I was grateful nonetheless. He had even taught me the way to shave a beard the way he shaved his, and I always told myself I would do it in that precise way (as I knew no other), though there was no need till I was fifteen. The most terrible thing was, I had lost all trace of my former life before my arrival in Port Royal. I no longer had the memento by which I remembered my last day with my mother and would continually speculate about my father with. The board of wood from the brig Captain Sir had commanded me to stay in had been taken from me, I suspected. Hence I was left with a life to start anew with, a life that was founded and based in Port Royal.  
  
It made me hurt inside, at first. It made me cold and vulnerable and angry. Everyone I had ever cared about had been taken away from me: my mother, my father, and Captain Sir. Many a night I awoke with terrible nightmares, and Ms. Smith was always there with gentle words and a kind heart. They cured my wounds temporarily, but I made a promise to myself every time I thought of my father, or Captain Sir. Pirates, that's what had done this to them. Pirates. Pirates had scared my father away from staying too long in one place, it had been a pirate who had killed and raped my mother, and pirates were what had killed Captain Sir. Pirates. I promised and took an oath (I might have done it in blood, if I had had the chance) that if I were to ever cross paths with a pirate, I would be prepared. I would fight them till the death, whether it be on my part, or, preferrably, theirs. I would forget Captain Sir and my parents and move on with my life.  
  
But I never forgot. No matter how many times I told myself to forget, to move on, to stop crying and just get over it, and that Ms. Smith had become like a mother to me, I could not. I continually abused myself for losing the medallion, and always thought about telling Ms. Smith what my mother had told me about my father. I imagined scenes (which would never in my life come true) where she would kindly tell me that he was dead, it had happened years ago, or a happier scenario, where she would tell me she knew exactly who I was talking of and lead me to him. I pictured the Governer coming to our house to say that Ms. Smith would have to come visit me, almost like the grandmother I never had (I even took to calling her grandmother after a while), because I would have to go live with my father. That visit would be different from the other visits the Governer made.  
  
And the Governer did keep his word. He came every so often, checking on me to see how I was doing, what condition I was in. He was being terribly responsible. But he never brought Elizabeth with him.  
  
I would see her on more than often occasion, fluttering through town in beautiful dresses and looking just like the angel she was. She would be either playing in her yard, an area that was en route to the blacksmith shop so that I was allowed to secretly watch her. It wasn't remotely like a stalker, I would just pause for a minute to see her run around her yard, chasing a fat old goose. She appeared to be somewhat lonely, pausing every now and then from her running to look around to see if there was any point to chasing a goose about her yard, but resumed her games rather quickly. She was so young and carefree, and what I was feeling hardly struck me as anything then: I was simply mesmerized by her existence. I would watch her every day before I made toward the blacksmith's shop. Sometimes Mr. Gruber would find me and laugh, telling me that she was far from my league, and I hardly understood the gentle let-down of his words, so I would just leave with him, my eyes still fixed upon the lovely Ms. Swann.  
  
When I was eleven years of age, a most fanciable opportunity came my way. I remembered that the Governer did make a very different visit to our home that day, though it was not what I had originally hoped.  
  
It was something of equal grace. If not, of course, better.  
  
I had just awoken from my sleep in the tiny cottage, and had seen the Governer's carriage from my window. Though Ms. Smith had forbade me to do so, I crept up and listened to what they were saying through a wall.  
  
"Yes," the Governer was saying, "it is most necessary. And at this time in a child's life, I believe..."  
  
"I understand completely," Ms. Smith said. "It is only natural for her to desire some company."  
  
"You think he'll be willing, then?"  
  
"Oh, I should think he'll be more than willing. That boy is going to be a fine young man, I promise you, Governer Swann. He has the heart of an angel. Why just the other day..." She began to relay a story as I ran back to bed on eggshells, knowing that they were going to wake me. I shut my eyes tight under the covers.  
  
A few moments later, I heard my bedroom door open, and the Governer saying, "Yes, well, it sounds like a very good idea to me."  
  
I felt Ms. Smith's hands gently shake my shoulders. "Will, dear. Will, wake up. The Governer's here to see you."  
  
I rubbed my eyes, feigning sleep. "Governer Swann?" I asked, raising slowly. "Hello."  
  
He shook my hand briskly. "Hello, Will, my boy. I understand your confusion at my presence, for I have come here for the second time this month."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Well, it seems I have a favor to ask of you, Will. Do you remember my daughter, Elizabeth?"  
  
I blushed at the sound of her name, completely unaware that I was even doing it. I nodded.  
  
"She's about your age now, quite a pretty girl, and yet... She seems very lonely at times. I was thinking... that... perhaps, you'd like to come and play with Elizabeth every few days or so. Just for her sake, I imagine you must have many friends of your own, but she is so terribly lonely. I have a feeling she would enjoy your company. Would you like that, Will?"  
  
I managed to whisper a, "Very much, Governer," through my complete awe.  
  
"You would?" he asked. "Fantastic. It's all settled then. Why don't you come about in three days time, eh? Come right after school."  
  
A suddent thought struck my mind, and I looked to Ms. Smith.  
  
She understood at once. "Governer, Will apprentices at Mr. Gruber's blacksmith shop, the one close to your house. He usually does it after school, and I'm afraid..."  
  
"Not to worry," Governer Swann replied. "I shall inform the blacksmith at once that Will's blacksmithing studies shall be reduced to every other day and every other weekend. On the remainder of those days, Will, you will report to my house immediately after school. On the weekends, be there at twelve thirty sharp. I expect you to be punctual."  
  
And in as a brisk manner as he had come, he bade us farewell, and left in his carriage pulled by two white horses.  
  
"Well," Ms. Smith said, "that was a mighty shade of red you turned, there."  
  
I blushed once more. "Please, Grandmum."  
  
"That's what you get for eavesdropping," she said, letting me know that she had a very good idea that she had not awoken me. "Now, let's have some breakfast. And after this, we're going to the tailor."  
  
"Why?" New clothes were a rarity, I knew.  
  
"You can't very well go off to the Governer's home in the clothes you're wearing! You're filthy as a pig!"  
  
"Grandmum!" I begged. "I hate going to the tailor's. All those needles and pins..." I pulled a face. "Won't you please let me wear some of my nicer clothes? I'll even wash them."  
  
"Yourself?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Myself."  
  
"Done deal," she replied. "I don't have enough money for new clothes anyway."  
  
"What's for breakfast?" I asked.  
  
"Don't ask," she said, plopping something purplish and green onto my plate, and my stomach dove in greedily, simply happy that there was food on the table.  
  
****************************  
  
Ah, I see that there is a plot change! Sorry. But there will be some more of this in the next chapter... I'll get it out as fast as I can. Review if you love me, and if you hate me, all the more reason to review. 


	5. Playdate

And I return to you, friends, with the next chapter. In this one we see Will and Elizabeth's first playtime together... And some tidbits of Will/Elizabeth goodness stuff. It gets stronger in the next chapters, I promise, because they're getting older. But you'll see.  
  
Disclaimer: You see these ownership papers for PoTC? THEY'RE NOT REAL!!!!!  
  
The very next Monday, I arrived at the front door of the Swann Mansion wearing my best, cleanest clothes. Ms. Smith had taught me how to wash clothes when I was first introduced to her, so I hardly had any trouble. She, however, assumed I did, being a child and whatnot. I was not like most children, though. Where other children were seemingly fickle and lazy, I sought fidelity and work in what I did.  
  
I knocked on the bronze, lion-shaped knockers, trying not to be scared of them.  
  
A maid opened the front door. "Hello," she said, in a Cockney accent. "You must be William Turner, here to play with Ms. Swann, I presume?"  
  
Instantly, Ms. Smith's lecture prior to sending me off popped into my mind: "She's a lady, Will, a lady. A very dignified lady at that. You'd best treat her with all the respect you've got in you. Not that you've got to fear the poor lass, just know your place. And do be friendly. Make her feel like a queen, Will," she said, winking. "All women love to be treated like queens."  
  
I gulped, and nodded.  
  
The maid held the door open for me. "Come inside. I'm Magdalene, by the way."  
  
I walked inside, seeing it for the first time. It was the most magnificent place I'd ever set foot in, clad with Persian rugs, and antique chandeliers, the wall was decorated with light coats of paint and beautiful paintings, and the furniture looked so soft and comfortable, it seemed as though one might float on air if to sit on a sofa. Yet, I knew better than to even look desiringly at them. I instead chose to stand and admire.  
  
"I'll show you to Ms. Swann's room, Mr. Turner."  
  
She led me up the stairs, through the narrow, thickly carpeted corridor, into a corner where there stood one white wooden door.  
  
"This would be the young Ms. Swann's quarters, Mr. Turner. Do enjoy yourself." Magdalene knocked on the door once for me before turning around and leaving.  
  
"Come in," her voice called.  
  
The sound of The Angel. I sighed, exhaling long and hard, before pushing the door open. I walked in, noticing once more the carpeting of the room, and stared at the floor as I shut it and stood in place. "Hello," I said, eyes fixed.  
  
"Will Turner?" she asked, sounding delighted. "Is that you?"  
  
I looked up, just to see her, mumbling a, "Yes." It was, however, to my horror (and somewhat pleasure) that she was in her bedclothes. Never having seen a woman in her bedclothes before (my mother slept in the nude), I did the natural.  
  
I screamed. "AAAAAAH!" I covered my eyes and backed up against the door. "AAAH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, MS. SWANN! AAAAAAAH!" I opened the door, left, and shut it, panting with my back pressed up against it.  
  
It was almost suddenly that I felt it open behind me, and I fell rather awkwardly to the ground. Ms. Swann was standing there, in her nightclothes, smiling rather happily.  
  
"Will," she said, her cheery mood ever present. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"Ms. Swann, I-I-" I was at a lack of speech, so I merely gestured to her body, turning my head away as I did so.  
  
"You mean my- my nightgown?" she asked, still smiling. "Will, have you never seen a woman in her bedclothes before?"  
  
I shook my head, eyes squinted shut.  
  
"Open your eyes," she said. "It's quite normal, really. I assure you, my father sees me like this all the time."  
  
I am most certainly not your father, I thought, but I did not feel the need to tell her this. She was, after all, the one in charge, and if she believed it was all right for me to view her in her robes, then so be it. I opened my eyes.  
  
It actually was not that bad. She was wearing a white short sleeved gown, not much different frm her everyday dresses, but with matters of comfort and simplicity attended to. She also wore some sort of a robe over it, perhaps to keep warm.  
  
"See?" she asked. "Now, come inside. Father says you want to play with me." She looked absolutely thrilled at the prospect, and although I had not been the one to make the offer of the circumstance, the statement was techinically true.  
  
I walked back inside her room hesitantly, still unsure of the matter of her dress, and stood as she sat down on a chair next to a tiny teatable.  
  
"Come," she said, gesturing to the chair placed across from her. "Sit."  
  
I walked over to the chair and sat down. "Ms. Swann, if I may ask, but what is it you do? All day?" I had imagined her to be a princess of sorts, one that participates in activities far from my comprehension.  
  
She sighed. "All day I do nothing."  
  
Nothing? I was hesitant with my reply. "But surely you- you must do something?"  
  
"I take lessons, if that's what you mean," she said, sounding bored. "I take Arithmetic, and social science. I learn how to ride a horse, and how to play the piano. I have two cats, a dog, three geese and a horse."  
  
My eyes widened. The only collision of our daily activities was Arithmetic. "You can play the piano?"  
  
"Yes," she said, then her face lit up. "Would like to learn how? Shall I teach you?"  
  
"All right," I said, wanting to make her happy the way I hoped I was doing.  
  
She grabbed my hand and began to lead me out of the room when she suddenly stopped midway. "Oh, no," she said, making a face. "Father won't let me into the drawing room till I've dressed. Would you mind terribly waiting while I call Maggie to dress me?"  
  
I instantly tensed up, eyes widening with fear. "You're going to undress? Here?"  
  
"No, of course not," she said, reassuring me into relief. "I'm going to undress in that corner. Behind that curtain."  
  
I stared at the flimsy white curtain, tensing up once more. "All right, Ms. Swann," I squeaked.  
  
"MAGGIE!" she called. "MAGGIE! WOULD YOU PLEASE HELP ME GET DRESSED?"  
  
The maid called Magdalene came inside nearly at once and asked Ms. Swann what she would like to wear.  
  
"I don't really mind," Ms. Swann replied. "Whatever's okay..."  
  
"What about this one, Ms. Swann?" Magdalene asked, holding up a blue dress with flowers at the neck. "Your father thought you might like to wear it when the Ambassador comes to tea."  
  
"All right," Ms. Swann replied, but I could see her rolling her eyes underneath it.  
  
The two walked behind a curtain, Magdalene holding many layers of white chemises and stockings, the frock, and a pair of shoes. I stood uncomfortably in a corner, not quite sure what to expect. Getting dressed for Ms. Smith and myself was always very simple and quick, never taking more than two full minutes. But when Ms. Swann dressed, she seemed to take what felt like an age, possibly to do with all the different layers of cloth the maid Magdalene had been holding.  
  
And yet, when she emerged from behind the curtain, my breath seemed to catch in my throat, and I could feel my pulse quicken. She was the angel I had seen on the very first day I saw her, beautiful and so enrapturing to me that I could not see anything beyond her. I didn't understand this reaction that I had to her, and her smile, and everything about her. But then she began to speak and it was affecting me the same way, and yet differently.  
  
"Do you like the dress, Will? My father just bought it." She spun around.  
  
"I-I like it very much, Ms. Swann," I said truthfully. "It looks very nice."  
  
Magdalene shot me a knowing glance.  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like to wear dresses very much, but they make me all the time. Come, let's go down to the drawing room. I'll teach you how to play the piano!"  
  
She once again grabbed me by the hand, and led me down her magnificent mahogany stairs into a room with large windows and a piano. She sat at the bench in front of the instrument, sitting me down next to her.  
  
She pointed to a note. "This note is C," she said. "It's middle C. It's kind of like the center of all of it." She hit the key. "You try."  
  
I hit the key.  
  
"Very good." She went on to further explain all the various notes, their positions, and hit all of them and asked me to do so as well. I listened to her intently, taking in every last word she said, absorbing everything.  
  
"My teacher taught me how to play 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'. Would you like me to show you?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
"Okay!" Then she began to play an unfamiliar tune, a song I'd never heard in my life.  
  
"What is that?" I asked.  
  
"It's a nursery rhyme, silly!" she exclaimed.  
  
"What's a nursery rhyme?" I felt stupid already standing next to her, but the progression of our conversation was not helping with this.  
  
She looked at me strangely. "You don't know what a nursery rhyme is?"  
  
I shook my head.  
  
"You never heard one? In school or anything?"  
  
I shook my head once more, feeling further and further embarassed by the second.  
  
She looked at me strangely, just for a moment, and I prayed to the Heavens above she would not question why I had never learned. I suddenly understood what my mother had meant when she told me she had wanted to "spare my ears the complications" for it was just what I was feeling now. I did not want to divulge to the lovely Ms. Swann that my past was that of a grotesque orphan, son of an abandoning merchant.  
  
I was blessed, for Ms. Swann was apparently a very observant child. She merely studied me for a minute, and although I believe she sensed something further to the story, she did not press the matter. "Why don't I teach you some of them? They're nice songs, honestly. Then I can teach you on the piano!"  
  
I merely nodded my head once more as she led me into yet another room, where she had picture books filled with nursery rhymes that she taught me. I heard "Jack and Jill" "The Fiddler and The Moon" and "Mary Had A Little Lamb" for the first time.  
  
When Ms. Smith came to fetch me, I was surprised that I had no desire whatsoever to leave. Ms. Swann, too, looked disappointed, and asked when I would be returning.  
  
"Perhaps soon," I said.  
  
And that was the way we ended all our childhood visits for the next one or two years.  
  
******************************************** 


	6. Debut of An Angel

Hey, sorry for the update lack the past day or two. This is a REALLY long chapter (like twenty one pages long, not even handwritten) but it has SO MUCH romance in it, it's gonna make your heads hurt. Please enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: *rapping loudly on street* They don't belong to me, no they don't!  
  
The visits continued through until I was twelve, when she and I both became very aware of certain changes and differences.  
  
During that period of time, however, I learned plenty about Ms. Swann. She was a tomboy, of sorts, when she was young, and for every tree that I climbed and every rope that I swung off of, she could climb higher than I and swing farther than I. She amazed me; she was so vibrant and full of life that she beamed with every smile she gave. She was always forced to wear dresses, then would take me out into her yard and we would climb the trees and through bushes, and she would virtually ruin the dress. It got to the point where Ms. Smith stopped forcing me to wear my good clothes and allowed me to go to the Swann mansion without changing. Ms. Swann would teach me how to play the piano, until we both tired of it and moved on. We were playmates as we were meant to be; there was no deep sustainance to our relationship. It was plain and simple, nothing complicated about it.  
  
Well, perhaps it seemed that way to the world.  
  
What I'm trying to say is that although our relation was that of the simplest friends, I often found myself complicating things in my head. I would suddenly pause from our chasing game and just watch her run about the yard, and the word that came to my mind were that of when I first saw her: angel. Somehow, when I just paused to look at her, she made my heart beat faster, and made me feel as though I understood anything and everything. Hence, I christened her The Angel, My Angel, although the nickname was confined only to my thoughts. She was beautiful, beautiful like an angel, and everything about her was angelic. From the way she walked, to the way she flushed when she ran, to simply the way the turned her head to the right when she was concerned about something.  
  
When my twelfth year began its seventh month, I suddenly began to shoot up in height. I put on weight, and lost weight, gaining and losing in different areas. My voice at first began to squeak (rather embarrassingly, actually), but eventually evened out to a tone much lower than its original pitch. These were the first of many changes on my behalf.  
  
She was growing too, in more ways than one, many of which are improper to state on paper. But I began to notice that she was taller, and she was beginning to look like a woman, both in figure and in face. There were no longer any traces of baby teeth lost, and she began to take her piano responsibilities much more seriously. And she slowly stopped finding a need to go outside and swing through branches, or go swimming in the ocean. She sang like the Angel she was, and...  
  
Well, to put it in short, as I am incapable of finding the right words, we matured.  
  
It was a silent settlement between the two of us that I needn't come around to "play" with her anymore. Of course, I did on occassion, simply to be polite and make sure it was what she wanted. But those visits would only last an hour at most, and seemed terribly uncomfortable, as though there was some force hanging above us. It was nothing to do with us as people; I imagine we would normally enjoy one another's company quite well. It was merely the age and time that set us apart. At our age, during that time, boys and girls did not normally associate with one another unless in a romantic sense, so us being friends was far out of the question.  
  
Of course, I couldn't help but wonder if we could get romantically involved.  
  
It was the slightest of a thought. I brushed it away rather quickly, telling myself it was a misconception of feelings. I was simply missing my childhood playmate, and it was time for me to grow up and focus on my blacksmithing duties. I now could return to my daily chores at Mr. Gruber's, and having been genuinely interested (and done a great deal of separate studying on my own), I knew very much about the art of swordsmanship. I was thirteen when I threw myself head first into the work of a blacksmith. Mr. Gruber was getting old, but he taught me what he could, and I quickly mastered everything. It was not long before I could make a very complicated sword with the simplest of directions.  
  
Every now and then, however, I would pause to wonder.  
  
I still believed that my father was somewhere out there on the island of Tortuga, waiting for me. I had learned much about the island since my arrival, that it was a place of rum and scandalous women, and assured myself that my father had no other business there than to wait for me. Or perhaps his merchant boat had sunk and he had lost all his fortune, forcing him to live a life of poverty on that pathetic isle.  
  
I also wondered what my life would be like had my mother not died. I would possibly still be in England, living with her, and I would also be uneducated and without a job. I would never have known Ms. Smith, nor My Angel. This made me feel strange, almost as though I had to choose between the two: my mother or Ms. Swann. I assumed that I must forge on with what I was given, and I had been given Ms. Swann.  
  
It was somewhere during this time period that my master Mr. Gruber discovered the wonders of alcohol. He began to spend more time at the pub than at his own shop, bringing bottles back with him. When he was around, he was either drunk or asleep, mostly asleep. This left all the work to me. I was the one making all the swords, taking the opportunity as a chance to show my real talent. All of those who ordered the swords saw them as such high quality, they could hardly believe they were made by Gruber himself. "Fine work, he's been doing lately, that Gruber." I heard these comments as they left the store, never bothering to say a word about the apprentice. The situation seemed terribly ironic to me.  
  
I often became fed up with doing all the work and receiving none of the credit whatsoever, and sought the advice of Ms. Smith.  
  
"You've got to do what you think is right," she told me. "Do you believe it's right to deprive all the people in Port Royal of their swords, and let them know that Mr. Gruber is a drunk?"  
  
"Well, I think they should know the truth," I said.  
  
"So you're going to tell them the truth that Mr. Gruber is a drunk," she said approvingly. "Then what'll happen? I imagine that Mr. Gruber would lose any trace of a reputation he ever had, and no one will ever buy anything from him again. And what would all this bad outcome be for? Oh, yes. So that Will Turner could get some credit."  
  
I sighed. "Must you be so blunt?"  
  
"It's my job," she said, smiling. "Now, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Keep working," I muttered.  
  
"There we go."  
  
Hence I kept my position as the apprentice, while actually performing the duties of the blacksmith himself. Meanwhile, I suppose there was some teenager energy pressed up within me (perhaps it was hormones), but I often felt different emotions. There was never any woman in my life, and though I often thought of My Angel, my romantic interests were still practically nonexistent. I gave this energy and the anger for the loss of my father, mother, and Captain Sir into swordmaking and, eventually, sword fighting.  
  
See, I had promised myself years back that I would avenge the losses in my life, all caused by pirates. Surrounded by weapons constantly, I had the opportunity to practice with any sword at my will. I taught myself how to fight using a sword, and it seemed to come fairly naturally to me. With every violent stroke I pushed, I thought of the death of my mother, the last image of Captain Sir, or how I had never seen my father. This motivation allowed me to push harder on the next stroke, and the next, and the next, and so forth. After all, I had no other occupations to keep me busy. As I stated earlier, my romantic life was literally nonexistent, and school was far since over. I did not drink any sort of alcohol after viewing Mr. Gruber's problem first-hand, and the though the townspeople were friendly, they were hardly what I would call friends.  
  
My Angel was the only friend I ever had.  
  
She was growing into a beautiful young lady as the years went by. She was taller and more sophisticated, her hair grown long and soft. I longed to touch that hair now, it was curled in some places and straight in others. Now when I saw her passing on the street, she would give a smile and a wave, and I would wave shortly in return. Yet my breath would still catch in my throat the way it did since I was eleven, and I wanted to run up to her and touch her or... or something. But I could never do that, this I knew. It was a simple impraticality and a fact of life. She was The Angel and I was the peasant. The Angel never found the peasant to be appealing, except for when she gave him alms or some such thing. The Angel most often found the prince to be the appealing one.  
  
Enter Captain Norrington.  
  
It was apparent ever since her debut ball that he was as in love with her than I was.  
  
And to make a long story short, by the time I had turned fifteen, I had faced the deafening conclusion that I was, indeed, in love with her. It was terrible; I cursed myself for having such feelings that were bound for disappointment. But it never went away.  
  
Anyway, both were apparent ever since her debut ball: my being in love with her, as well as the Commodore. Let me explain properly.  
  
It had been three years since I had stopped visiting her regularly, although her father made many a stop at Mr. Gruber's to place orders for his army. In fact, Governor Swann's orders were the orders I spent most time and care on. It was, however, one morning just before I was to turn sixteen that he came to me.  
  
Mr. Gruber was asleep in a corner, hardly visible to anyone who was to walk in. I would give the same tale that I told whenver a man walked in: Mr. Gruber is out right now, may I be of any service?  
  
The Governor walked in, not bothering to knock, and I looked up from hammering the metal on a sword I was working on; coincidentally, one of his.  
  
"Hello, Will, my boy," he said, smiling slightly. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Very well, sir, and you?" I had finally been able to use the name "sir" without choking on my tongue.  
  
"Quite well, myself, thank you."  
  
I held up the sword frame I was working on. "Coming along very nicely, sir."  
  
"Thank you, Will. Where is Mr. Gruber?" He looked around.  
  
"Oh," I said, eyes widening, moving to a corner to make Mr. Gruber virtually invisible. "He's not here right now. I imagine he went to pre- order some metal framing."  
  
The Governor nodded. "Good, that's very good. I wanted to speak to you in private, actually."  
  
I wrinkled my brow and gestured to the empty space. "We have all the privacy in the world, sir."  
  
He smiled again and gingerly took a seat on a rickety bench. "You see, Will, my boy, I have a favor to ask of you."  
  
"A favor, sir?"  
  
"Yes, a favor. It concerns Elizabeth."  
  
I forced myself against blushing, swallowing hard, needing some cold water. "Ms. Swann?"  
  
"I don't know if you know about this, Will, but many girls of Elizabeth's age have a debut ball. A ceremony to represent a coming of age, almost. And, well, Elizabeth is just about the right age. She is having her ball in three days actually, did she tell you?"  
  
"No, sir," I said, feeling some unknown emotion, and yet, it was strangely familiar. "Ms. Swann and I are merely friendly acquaintances now." Sadness.  
  
I had never related that emotion to My Angel before, but suddenly, it was stabbing me in my heart. Over and over and over. We were simply acquaintances, nothing more, not even friends. Just two folks on the street who once upon a time knew one another well. I suddenly felt a need to throw up.  
  
"I see," he said, shifting once more. "Will, Elizabeth needs a young escort for her debut, and on a normal occassion, I would ask Captain Norrington or one of the soldiers to accompany her, but she won't have it. She claims she wants someone of her age, and will not listen to my lectures on class or appearances." He sighed, wearily rubbing his brow. "So I have come to you as a last resort in order for her to attend the ball. Would you mind being Elizabeth's escort to the ball?"  
  
He had been polite, not friendly, and certainly not nice. I was his last resort, I would always be his last resort. But there was no one in their right mind who would tell the Governor 'no'. There was also the tiny matter that the thought of accompanying My Angel anywhere was more than enough to spark my interest. "I would be delighted, sir."  
  
He exhaled, apparently relieved. "Wonderful. If she's not pleased with you, then I don't know what to do. Very well, you shall need to get some new clothes, fancier than what you wear to church if you will, and perhaps some new shoes, as well," he said, eyeing my footwear. His list continued on and on for miles, and with each new item, my head got a little heavier.  
  
"If you'll pardon my interruption, sir," I said. "But I'm not quite sure I can afford all these items."  
  
He studied me for a moment before saying, "Not to worry. We will provide them to you if you will send me your measurements. Now, I must be going, there is plenty of business to attend to. I appreciate your willingness to help."  
  
He shook my hand, and walked out of the shop.  
  
For the first time since he entered, I breathed.  
  
A few hours later, I found myself at home as Ms. Smith threw some rope around me to measure me at every angle.  
  
"Going out with the Governor's daughter, eh?" she asked me.  
  
I sighed. "She needs an escort to her debut ball."  
  
"I see," she replied. She threw it over my shoulder. "Did she ask you?"  
  
"No, Governor Swann came into the shop this afternoon."  
  
"Ah, yes. Are you excited?"  
  
"Depends on what you'd call excited," I muttered under my breath.  
  
It appeared that she hadn't heard me however. "You should be excited. Real fancy ball, it's going to be. I hear the Queen herself is going to be there." bloodsugar ratings no changes more readings 2 ws  
  
I stayed silent. I didn't care who else was there, really, I was only there to be with one person.  
  
Suddenly, Ms. Smith spun me around to face her. She looked at me, saying, "Listen, Will, I don't mean to be harsh, but you must remember that you are just her escort. I'm not saying it's impossible, anything is possible, but just don't get your hopes up."  
  
My eyes widened at how she could read me so well. I tried not to let my surprise show, however. "I know better than to get my hopes up. It's fair enough to say that life's taught me that much."  
  
"I know you know," she said kindly. "I just need to make sure. One disappointment is one disappointment too many."  
  
"May I go to bed now?" I asked. I didn't wait for her reply, just falling straight into bed.  
  
****************************  
  
Three days passed rather quickly. I busied myself with work at the shop, trying not to think about the upcoming event. I even had Ms. Smith teach me how to dance.  
  
And yet My Angel would not leave my mind. I thought of her consistently, her beauty never wavering once in my head. I would not see her in the street, possibly due to her impending debut, and I began to miss our childhood friendship days more than ever. I began to think of how she looked the very first time I ever saw her; her hair had lightened from that deep brown to a honey color since then, and she was of course very different in other ways too.  
  
The clothes I was measured for were sent to my home at Ms. Smith's on the day of My Angel's debut ball, along with a note saying I was to arrive at the Swann Mansion at precisely six o'clock. Surprisingly enough, I had no trouble putting on the clothes, and though the shoes were not what I was accustomed to, I assumed I would grow into them. Ms. Smith bade me farewell for the evening, reminding me of my manners and to be a gentleman, and why couldn't I have just shaved a different way today?  
  
But she knew I always cut my facial hair the same way, and I always would.  
  
I arrived in front of the Swann Mansion just before six, waiting a good ten minutes before knocking. I stood there nervously, fidgeting with the new, somewhat uncomfortable clothes, and thinking of My Angel. Finally, I rapped the brass knocker.  
  
The maid Magdalene answered the door, dressed up fancier than usual. "Why, hello Mr. Turner," she said in her usual Cockney. "It's good to be seeing you again. Come inside." She held the door open, and I stood inside anxiously.  
  
"Uhh..." I glanced around the front hall I had once been so accustomed to seeing daily.  
  
"The Governor said you were to go upstairs. He wanted to speak with you." She pointed to the stairs. "In his private office."  
  
I swallowed, eyes widening again. "Yes. Yes, then-then I'll be going there." I took my time climbing up every stair, wondering what the Governor wanted with me. I knocked on his mahogany door.  
  
"Come in," he said.  
  
I walked inside the room.  
  
"Ah," he said, turning to face me. "Will, my boy. Good to see you. Thank you for coming tonight. The clothes fit well, I imagine?"  
  
I was choking in the collar. "Perfectly."  
  
"Excellent." He took a seat at his desk, and motioned for me to sit across from him. He poured himself a drink. "Ale, Will?"  
  
"No thank you," I said, not very fond of alcohol at all, especially after seeing its effects on Mr. Gruber.  
  
"There was a reason I called to speak to you, Will," he said. "I want you to know that this ball is very important to Elizabeth's future."  
  
"Yes, sir. I understand completely."  
  
"It decides many things about her life to come, for it is, as I said, a presenting ball."  
  
"I see, sir."  
  
"It may very well decide whom she marries."  
  
Whom she marries? "I understand the weight of the situation, sir." I shut my eyes for just a moment, compressing any eruptions of emotion.  
  
"That's very good news to my ears, Will, for I intend this night to truly be Elizabeth's presentation. You understand that, don't you? She will be dancing with you as well as others.... I presume you know the styles of dance we will be doing tonight?"  
  
I certainly hoped so. "Of course, sir."  
  
"Then it will all go as planned. You will escort Elizabeth down the stairs, and the ball will progress. You will catch on, don't worry."  
  
"Where is Ms. Swann, sir?"  
  
"I believe she is almost dressed. But you may wait outside her room door."  
  
"Thank you sir."  
  
I stood up and left Governor Swann's private office, making my way down the hall to My Angel's bedroom. I stood just outside the door, and could hear various noises coming from within. There were shrieks and screams, as well as some gasps. Altogether, it sounded quite... Sexual, if you'll excuse my vulgar terms. I, however, simply paced in the space in front of the door, trying to ignore the continual noise from the other side.  
  
It continued until the doorknob turned, and out walked my Angel... crashing right into me.  
  
"Will!" she exclaimed, stepping away.  
  
"Ms. Swann!" I said, surprised. I looked at her. For the first time since I'd ever known her, her hair was piled atop her head, some few strands hanging down. She wore a yellow dress I'd never seen before, but (to the delight of my teenage mind) it highlighted everything. I took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "You- you look lovely," I nearly whispered.  
  
"Thank you!" she said, smiling. "You look very nice yourself."  
  
"Your father sent me the clothes," I replied, adding a grateful smile.  
  
"You needn't thank us," she said. "Really, it's you I should be thanking. It was incredibly nice of you to come with me."  
  
"It's my pleasure," I said, meaning every sound of it.  
  
She leaned in a litte closer and said softly, "Father wanted me to go with Captain Norrington. But he's so old! I wanted to go with someone I could have fun with."  
  
I offered her a smile.  
  
Magdalene rushed up the stairs. "Miss! Miss, it's time for your big entrance! Are you ready?"  
  
"Yes," Ms. Swann said. "Does everything look all right?"  
  
"You look beautiful, Miss," Magdalene said.  
  
"Why thank you, Maggie," she said. "Are you ready, Will?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes, Ms. Swann."  
  
I took her arm in mine, and we began to walk down the stairs leading to the ballroom of their mansion. I noticed that everything went quiet, and everyone in the room was watching us. I could see very few that I could recognize, only Governor Swann and Captain Norrington, whom I had never met. Yet I was only capable of concentrating on the feel of her hand in mine; it was so warm and soft, I wanted to hold it forever. Her hands were graceful and smooth, like a bird's wings. I took a deep breath, remembering Ms. Smith's words. I must stay in control of myself, I thought. It was far too easy to get carried away with her so close to me, and I knew not what I might do if I let myself slip even in the slightest. And, almost as quickly as we had begun, we reached the end of the stairwell.  
  
Everyone in the room clapped loudly for some reason. She let go of my arm, leaving me cold and stiff, and curtsied. I took a step back as she did this, waiting for the music to resume its place. Then suddenly, Governor Swann took the center of the ballroom floor.  
  
"Now, we begin the debutante's dance," he said.  
  
My brow furrowed. Debutante's dance?  
  
Ms. Swann was looking at me rather expectantly.  
  
I gave her a confused look.  
  
She mouthed: We're supposed to dance!  
  
My eyes widened. What? No one had mentioned this to me. I would be forced to follow Ms. Swann's lead. She curtsied, and I did what Ms. Smith had taught me to do, I bowed. We began a traditional dance of England in the center of the room, while the others looked on.  
  
I stepped towards her, taking her hand. As we turned, I whispered into her ear, "What are we doing?"  
  
"We're dancing!" she hissed.  
  
We stepped back twice, then once to the left, then once to the right. We walked towards one another again, and I took a light hold of her waist with my left hand, holding her hand with my right. I tried not to focus on the feel of her body brushing softly against mine, but instead said so that only she could hear, "Nobody told me about this!"  
  
"What?" she asked, sounding surprised, but the smile kept on her face.  
  
"Nobody told me we were supposed to dance with everyone watching right away!"  
  
We began to turn the other direction, and I reversed my hold on her.  
  
"Not even Father? That's strange." We continued to speak in an inaudible manner.  
  
"I'm sorry I wasn't prepared," I managed before we stepped backwards again. I took three steps to my left, coming four to the right, then one to the front. I took her hand in mine again, and we made a slow, even turn.  
  
"It's all right, just keep smiling," she said.  
  
A few moments later, she said to me, "You're a very natural dancer. Whom did you learn from?"  
  
It took me a moment to mutter and confess, "Ms. Smith." I smiled at her.  
  
"Really? I never would have known, you're far better than some of these soldiers you know."  
  
I blushed. She was so beautiful. I never wanted to let go of her hand, of her waist. I never wanted the dance to end, for it meant that, even if only for a brief moment, I could come into conact with her. Even when it was a simple brush of the hand, it made my skin tingle where hers had been. With every turn we made, the longing for her inside me became stronger, and I was forced to remind myself of my place and the fact that all my fantasies could never come true.  
  
And all too soon, the orchestra stopped playing their song. I bowed, My Angel curtsied. We walked away from the crowd as the orchestra struck up another tune, and many couples resumed dancing.  
  
"What now?" I asked her.  
  
"Well, we can dance again whenever you like," she said. "And I suppose you're free to dance with others-"  
  
"As are you," I interjected somewhat rudely.  
  
She smiled. "As am I. But we are expected to be together the rest of the time. You are, after all, my escort."  
  
I gave her another small smile as we found a place to stand, somewhere towards a corner. There were a few moments of unearthly silence.  
  
"We are allowed to talk, you know," she said, smiling.  
  
"A-all right, Ms. Swann." Why must I stutter?  
  
She suddenly turned to face me. "Will Turner, how long have we known one another, and yet you still call me Ms. Swann?"  
  
"I... I suppose it would be the proper thing to do."  
  
"Proper?" she asked, and through the glint in her eye I could see my childhood friend again. "No, the only thing I think is proper is for you to call me Elizabeth from now on. All right?"  
  
Elizabeth? Call My Angel by her first name? I wanted to tell her no, for I knew this was the first step to unraveling my binding ropes, the ropes that kept me controlled when I was near her. "All right, Elizabeth."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"So," she said after a few moments. "How have you been doing lately?"  
  
"Well, actually," I said. "I've been rather well."  
  
"Father tells me you've been taking your apprenticeship very seriously."  
  
"Oh, yes," I lied. "Very seriously." More like taking my blacksmith duties seriously, but I could never tell her that. "I plan on maybe opening a shop of my own someday... What about you?"  
  
"Oh, I'm doing fine," she said, looking strangely uncomfortable. "I've been practicing walking with books on my head, for posture, and I still ride horses, but-"  
  
Suddenly, a soldier of about thirty five years or so walked up to My Angel, and asked her for a dance.  
  
She looked at me, almost as though to make sure it was all right.  
  
Don't do that, I thought, but let her know it was all right just by the expression on my face.  
  
She walked away with him, and I turned my head. I knew I would not be able to stand watching it. Certainly not after I had danced with her. Now that I knew what it was like to dance with her, there was a part of my mind that thought I should be the only one to dance with her, to hold her hand. I still wanted her so much; she was so beautiful in every aspect. I knew this night would be etched in stone in my mind forever.  
  
Eventually, my head forced itself around to look, and it was though my blood began to boil in a way I never knew it could. I could see that old man touching her, putting his hands on her, and though she did not appear to be smiling, she was not protesting either. I had the urge to run up to him, remove him from her, something. Anything to stop me from feeling the way I was feeling. I could feel myself dropping to the ground, losing myself. I wanted to scream and yell, let the tremor inside me loose.  
  
And then, as soon as I had shut my eyes, I felt her slender finger tap me on the shoulder.  
  
I spun around instantly, no longer needing to force a smile when I saw her face. "Hello."  
  
"Hello," she said, laughing slightly.  
  
"Did you have fun?" I asked, gesturing to the soldier, in attempt to be polite.  
  
"I suppose," she replied, sounding uneasy once more. "You're a far better dancer than he was, though," she whispered.  
  
"Thank you," I told her. I paused awkardly before saying, "You were telling me exactly how you were doing, before he-"  
  
"Oh, yes," she said. "I still ride horses, and I'm walking with books on my head, but..."  
  
"But?" I dared to take a step closer to her.  
  
She looked up at me. "But sometimes I still feel terribly lonely."  
  
I gave her a sharp glance reflexively.  
  
She continued. "I miss you, Will. I miss you terribly."  
  
I surprised myself by saying, "I miss you, too, Elizabeth."  
  
We were simply inches away from one another, just one staring intently at the other. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes, turned to the color of earth over the years. Her structured nose and perfectly aligned teeth; I felt so unworthy standing next to someone of her calibur. But I merely stood and stared, her doing the same, for Lord knew how long, until we were interrupted once more.  
  
"Elizabeth," a deep voice said.  
  
She spun around, holding her gaze on me for as long as she could. "Captain Norrington."  
  
"And Mr. Turner," the Captain said, nodding briefly in my direction. "May I have a brief word with you, Elizabeth? Outside, if I may?" He gestured to the front porch connected to the ballroom.  
  
"Of course, Captain."  
  
I eyed them as they walked away, specifically the Captain. I noticed the way he looked at her, the way he laughed when she said something. I noticed the light color in his cheeks, as well as the difference to his posture. I noticed the familiarity of it all. And suddenly, it smacked me right in the face:  
  
He was in love with her.  
  
Captain Norrington was in love with Elizabeth. It could be seen just in the way he glanced at her, or the expression on his face when he spoke to her. It was familiar to me because I was feeling those things as well, feeling what the Captain was feeling just at this very moment. I wondered if his skin tingled when he touched her, if he wanted to fall to the ground and end his life when he saw me dancing with her, and how many other men on this world were in love with Elizabeth Swann. How many hearts she had caught.  
  
Who would be the one to catch her heart?  
  
If to choose between a blacksmith and Captain of the British navy, it hardly seemed a worthy decision. After all, Captain Norrington was very well off, and although he greatly surpassed her in age, he was not ugly, so to speak. I knew there was a good chance of his money and power increasing over time, as it appeared currently that he may get promoted to Commodore someday. If Elizabeth were forced to choose between the two of us, it was doubtless she would choose the Captain.  
  
A few minutes later, she returned, looking rather flushed. She looked around uneasily.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked instinctively.  
  
"Oh! Oh, yes, quite. Come," she said. "Walk with me."  
  
We began to walk through her front garden, away from her ball.  
  
"Are you sure?" I asked her as we left toward the porch. "After all, I'm sure there will be many people looking to dance with you."  
  
"It's all right," she said. "I don't particulary want to dance with any of them."  
  
I did not know what to say to her.  
  
"Do you remember how we met?" she asked suddenly.  
  
"Of course," I said. How could I forget?  
  
"You were so funny then, you wouldn't talk to me about anything at all. So closed off..." Her voice trailed off. "Come to think of it, you still never told me anything."  
  
I laughed lightly, trying to brush it off. "I was small."  
  
"You were. So was I. But still... You can tell me now, Will, if you want." The look in her eyes was the softest.  
  
I reponded in an equally soft tone. "Tell you about what?"  
  
"About what happened," she said, and I turned away, unwilling to meet her eye.  
  
She turned me around, touching my wrist. "About what happened to you."  
  
"Nothing happened."  
  
"Will, you said that all the time we've known each other, but I know it's not the truth and you know it, too." She studied my face for a moment. "You haven't told anyone, have you? Not even Ms. Smith."  
  
I shook my head.  
  
"Does she know anything about before you came to Port Royal?"  
  
"Elizabeth, I'm not quite sure you understand," I said.  
  
"Understand what? You've told me nothing, I understand that much."  
  
"Not that!" I said, letting my voice rise ever so slightly, something I'd never done with her even in my dreams. "Not that. It's just the fact that if I were to tell anyone, they might..."  
  
"Sympathize?"  
  
"I don't need anyone's pity!"  
  
"It's not pity, Will!" Her voice was raised far above my quiet tone now, and I was glad we were far away from the Swann Mansion. "It's comprehension and acceptance! There's a difference! Why can't you just open up to someone?" She shook her head, giving me this extremely confused look. "I thought you might..." She turned around, and began to walk away.  
  
"Wait!" I called, knowing the last thing I wanted was for her to go.  
  
She spun back around. "Yes?"  
  
"I'll tell you," I said softly. "Fine, you're right. I didn't tell anyone. I'll tell you."  
  
She stood close to me once more, so close I could hear her breathe, and I felt the earth drop.  
  
"I was born in England," I said, staring at the space just above her shoulder. "Born in England in a part of London most people don't know about. I lived in the slums, and was raised solely by my mother." I paused, remembering my mother's last words to me.  
  
"Where was your father?"  
  
"He was a merchant my mother met when she was here, actually," I said. "His name was William as well. He took my mother on a two month trip on his boat, where they conceived me, and then left her in England. He left the country, chased out by pirates, and my mother found a job as a prostitute in a brothel right in the slums of England."  
  
I heard her give a barely audible gasp.  
  
"I needn't continue if you don't want me to," I said, knowing the shock she was experiencing.  
  
"No," she said. "No, continue."  
  
I took a deep breath. "So I was raised without a father in this whorehouse, more or less, until I was about seven years old. One night before my birthday, I heard this talk about a pirate invasion, and on the morning of my birthday I even saw the ship but thought nothing of it. That night after I came home from playing with the neighborhood boys, I came home to my apartment and saw a man sneaking out of the back. I knew he was a pirate, just by the looks of him. Anyway, I came inside to find my mother, brutally murdered. There was blood everywhere..." I choked. "So I accidentally dropped my candle and ran out, burning the building down completely."  
  
"Oh, my," she said.  
  
I looked up at her.  
  
"Please keep going, Will," she pleaded, although I could tell she knew it was difficult for me.  
  
"I lived off the streets for a while, until I ran into a man who wanted me to come aboard his ship and wash decks and such. He called me Will, I called him Captain Sir, and he taught me all there was to being a man. When I was nine years old, pirates attacked the ship, sinking it. Captain Sir was apparently a very faithful captain, for he did go down with his ship. I was the last to see his body."  
  
"Lord..."  
  
"Then your father's ship found me, and I imagine you know the story from there on."  
  
But before I could say another word, or wait for her response, she threw her arms around me, holding me tighter than I'd ever been held in my life. I was terribly surprised, and yet the feel of her body against mine was so good...  
  
"Elizabeth?" I whispered, gingerly placing my arms around her waist.  
  
"I'm sorry, Will," she said into my shoulder, and I noticed for the first time that she was crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything, it's terrible, this world is terrible, everything is just..."  
  
I lifted her face to look at me.  
  
"Terrible," she finished weakly.  
  
Her face was tear-streaked and still beautiful, and I understood immediately the reason for her tears. I held her close to me again, trying not to feel so good about it, attempting to reduce the high level she was bringing me to.  
  
I leaned down and whispered in her ear softly, "Your mother would have loved to be here today."  
  
She held me even tighter, and began to sob. I stroked her hair gently, waiting for when she was ready to pull away.  
  
When she finally pulled her head back, she said to me, "I... I..."  
  
I shook my head. "It's all right."  
  
"But I was the one who asked you to-"  
  
"Really, Elizabeth, it was more than my pleasure."  
  
She was still in the same place as before, only now she was looking up at me with a strange look I had never seen before on her face. I pulled her in to the same proximity we had been only seconds before, and dared to reach out and stroke her face.  
  
"My angel," I muttered, before I could stop myself.  
  
Our faces were moving closer and closer together; I could feel her breath on my face, and suddenly her lips met mine. The universe came to a cascading halt, moving at the pace of our choice as I gently parted her lips. There was nothing and everything and something, and perhaps a little of it all. I felt a rush and a swell within me, I was floating far away, drifting into the world of her. All I could think of was My Angel and this, the moment that changed my life forever. I wanted her so badly, I needed her desperately, and had been waiting so long. I no longer remembered any control I once had, any reasoning to disprove the theory that we should stay like this forever.  
  
It was after a long time that we pulled apart, and she said my name as though it burned.  
  
"Shhh," I said. "Elizabeth, I lov-"  
  
"Wait, Will, please," she said, sounding desperate. "Don't say anything."  
  
I asked the question with my eyes. Why not?  
  
She touched my face gently, letting her hand rest there. "I-It's the Captain. He's just told me that he fancies me, and that my father would greatly approve of the match."  
  
Suddenly, I became quite incapable of breathing.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Hope you all liked. Review if you did, review if you didn't. 


	7. Tomorrow

PLEASE READ THE VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM!!!! THANK YOU!!! And enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them.  
  
There was nothing I could do.  
  
Nothing, absolutely nothing. I knew it right from the beginning, that the Captain more than just fancied Elizabeth, but now that her father approved of the match it was very nearly sealed in stone. My heart was bound to be broken, but now...  
  
Why had I done what I did? Why had I let myself lose control even for one moment? The inevitable fall from the high I was still recovering from was bound to be much more difficult now. I was going to feel pain, incredible, unimaginable pain. And there was nothing I could do.  
  
I simply stood there, staring at her beautiful face, hand still stroking her soft, smooth cheek. I closed my eyes, breathing in.  
  
"Will?" she asked me softly.  
  
I swallowed, opening my eyes again. "Yes?"  
  
"There's still hope, isn't there?"  
  
Hope? I no longer believed in hope. All these years I'd hoped to own her, to have her for my own, to be able to touch her and admire her without the incessant chains I was forced to keep myself in. Now, now that I had it just for three minutes, it was leaving me. The one thing I ever wanted in life was leaving me. What hope?  
  
"No, I don't believe there is," I said softly, trying to regain some element of sanity.  
  
She appeared distraught. "Why not?"  
  
"Because," I said, sounding eerily calm. "There is no way this can work. You know it, I know it. If your father wishes you to be with the Captain, then you will be with the Captain. That's the end."  
  
"But we don't have to listen to my father!" she pleaded, I believe more with herself than I. "It can work, Will, all of it can."  
  
I simply shook my head. I gave her one last look before turning around.  
  
She stopped me right in my tracks. "Why do you have to break my heart like this?"  
  
I spun around, and before I could think my hands were back on her face, stroking her hair, just trying to touch her. I brought our faces millimeters apart. "I'm not trying to break your heart. This is no one's fault. It's just the way things are. It's a question of who is in power." I let my lips brush hers gently, feeling the shudder happening to both of us at the same time. "I can't help it, you can't help it... There's nothing we can do." I let my lips touch hers again. "Please don't make it harder than it already is." One final kiss goodbye...  
  
She wouldn't let me go, though. She held onto me, holding me as close to her as I could get. I could feel her breathe in my scent, as I took in hers, committing it to memory. When she finally let me loose, she looked up at me earnestly, sadly, and said, "Will..."  
  
I tried to swallow my pain, stop the tears from flowing. "Goodbye, Ms. Swann."  
  
She looked ready to cry once more, and it was all I could do to stop myself from returning to her at once, telling her it would all be okay. But I could not do that. I knew better than to do that, for it would only cause us both more pain in the scheme of things. If Elizabeth was to be with the Captain, she was to be with the Captain, end of story.  
  
Needless to say, I cried myself to sleep every night for the next few months. I was lucky in that Ms. Smith did not question my actions; and it pained me to go by the Governor's home en route to the blacksmith's shop every day. It was all I could do not to drop to the ground and ask God to take me, beg him to remove me from this earth and just end my pain.  
  
Just another drop in the bucket, Will, I told myself. Just another thing you'll cry about, and eventually will forget about and move on. I was damned to a life of pain and misery, that had become quite apparent to me over the years. I told myself that it would happen, that I would forget her, that I would leave Port Royal soon in search of my father and everything would be all right after I found him. And yet...  
  
And yet I could not forget the feel of her lips on mine. I could not forget the emotions that rushed through me when I came so close to her, the intensity of it all. She could only be described in one word to me: unforgettable. So simple, yet so perfect. The dreams of her coming to me again refused to cease, she remained my motivation when I was building swords, and she was the only thing I could cling to anymore. I never had to doubt what I felt for her, and yet I pitied myself because of this, as it had become visible that she herself was moving on.  
  
The only glimpse I saw of her was on the rare occassion I had a delivery for the Governor, in which case she might come downstairs for a brief few moments. In the earlier days, she never addressed me, simply watched me with a longing in her eyes. I returned the gaze intently, and yet the Governor never noticed. As the years went by, the longing in her look faded, only to be replaced by a friendly look from that of our youth. Every so often she would address me, and though I referred to her by her first name in my mind, I would call her Ms. Swann. She asked me every so often to please call her Elizabeth, a note of something else hidden in her voice, but I would always decline, knowing it was only politeness that led her to do so. I needed no one's pity, especially not Elizabeth's. I imagined she was getting on very well with the Captain.  
  
Three years passed in such a fashion, and my nineteenth birthday came and went, before the last time I saw her in this manner. I remember the morning; it was the morning before my life changed forever, and I was taking a sword to the Governor's home to be made ready for Captain Norrington. His ceremony was being held later that day, in honor of his promotion to Commodore.  
  
I arrived at the house, and the maid Magdalene answered the way she always had.  
  
"Hello, Maggie," I said, and she ushered me into the front hall.  
  
I gazed at an old candlestick, one that I had eyed on many occassions from the drawing room when Elizabeth tried to teach me piano. I gently fingered it... And suddenly it broke.  
  
I could hear the Governor's voice coming from the other end of the hall, so I did the only logical thing to do:  
  
I threw it into the nearest space I could find.  
  
"Will, my boy," he greeted me as he always did. "Good to see you."  
  
"I have your order, sir," I said. I opened the case I was holding, laying it down on the table. "Perfectly crafted," I said in admirance of my own work. "Despite the width of the blade, it is the exact same weight," I took my time to toss it in what might appear to be a careless manner, "as the handle."  
  
"May I?" he asked. I handed it to him, and he studied it for a moment. "Very nice."  
  
I placed it gently back in the case.  
  
"Will," he said suddenly. "Do give my compliments to your master."  
  
Of course, I thought. Because my master spent the past four days working nonstop on this sword, while I, the apprentice, lazed about at the pub. "I shall. A man always enjoys it when his craft is praised."  
  
Just then, we were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.  
  
"Elizabeth," Governer Swann said, turning around to face her, "You look lovely."  
  
Lovely indeed. I could not remove my eyes from her.  
  
"Thank you, Father," she said, her voice melodious. "Will," she said chirpily. "I had a dream about you last night. About the day we met. Do you remember?"  
  
Her voice was so cheery, but it was masking sadness, I could tell. I knew her well enough for that. "How could I forget, Ms. Swann?"  
  
"Will," she said. "How many times must I tell you? Call me Elizabeth."  
  
"Once more, as always, Ms. Swann." I pleaded that I did not sound desperate.  
  
Her gaze turned sharp.  
  
"Well, at least the boy has a sense of propriety, Elizabeth," Governer Swann said, sounding relieved. He was praising me for my actions, and I was admonishing myself instinctively. "Come, we must be going."  
  
"Good day, Mr. Turner," she said harshly.  
  
Her words stabbed me harder than any sword.  
  
I chased after the carriage as it left her home, saying loud enough so that she could hear, "Good day, Elizabeth."  
  
And as I walked toward the shop again, I knew something.  
  
There were things meant to fail one's heart, and things meant to stay true. I knew not which this would turn out to be, but one must go day by day. And today, for this one day, I decided to play faith's good side.  
  
For who knew what tomorrow would bring?  
  
*************************************************  
  
Okay, so basically this is the end. I think. There are two options: you guys can let me end the fic here, and I can begin my work on a sequel, which would take place after the movie. Or you can make me go through the movie (warning, it probably won't be word for word) from Will's point of view, and once we finish with that, we'll decide to move on to who knows what. So tell me what you think: to continue, or to end and make a sequel? That is the question. Review with your answers/opinion. 


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ!

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
This is regarding whether or not I am making a sequel:  
  
I am. I am simply jumping through the movie, but one of my reviewers (fyi: feedback was great guys, please keep going with it, I love you!) gave me the idea of making flashbacks from the movie of certain points. This way I'll get to only write about Will stuff, ie I won't have to write about scenes he's not in. So the sequel will be from Will's point of view, tallying their lives post-movie. It's a possibility of becoming a series of sequels (the next one probably regarding the marriage, after that, their next few adventures with Jack, etc.). I am having my birthday party this weekend, so the first chapter of the sequel should be up by Monday or Tuesday, depending on how fast the site puts it up, but I will do my part and upload it Monday. Oh, and I'm also making a couple of more one parter fics, and a three-chapter short story thing. Both are finished and ready for uploading by Wednesday or so. Expect more, people, and I hope you all come and check it out!!  
  
Luv ya, Pen Is Ink  
  
PS: The sequel will not be posted under this story, but under a new story title. 


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